ask waif

anonymous asked:

I used to run a minecraft ask blog and was one of your first few followers, i came back just now after 5 years and oh my god waif is so buff now!!! he can uproot a sequoia tree!!! and he looks even softer!!

Oh, hey an old-timer!! It’s mighty cool of you to check in after so long.
He’ll always be a soft weirdo, inside and out, even as his shoulders got broader and pointier through artistic development and maybe bench pressing… who knows…  

You know what? I’m wondering if that was even Arya at all that we saw get stabbed tonight. What if it was Jaqen posing as her to lure the waif out and trick her into thinking her deed was done? He has always seemed to be fond of Arya that went beyond the strict guidelines of his assassin guild and of how close to people they’re allowed to get. I think since the moment they met she got under his skin in a way that’s been a challenge for him to figure out and control. The very event of their first encounter in itself seemed less random and more meant to be if you wanna get all magical.

I just found it odd that Arya was wandering around town without Needle, after we just recently witnessed her happy reunion with it, and even her posture and composed behavior seemed very Jaqen-esque. The money she procured for passage back to Westeros… sure, it could have been pick pocketed easily enough, but that amount in such a short span of time since we last saw her? Questionable. But then again her face is not yet in the hall of Faceless Men so how could he do this? When the waif asked to kill Arya there was a moments hesitation to his response and that makes me believe that, even against his own code, he does not agree she should die in spite of her failed promises. Would he go so far to save her? Who knows. But it is an interesting thought. We won’t know until next week I guess.

anonymous asked:

I don't get the whole story line with arya and her being nobody can you briefly explain it?

Sure!  Here’s a brief summary of the show’s version of events:

Arya ended up in Braavos because she wasn’t able to get to the Wall and Jon.  The coin that Jaqen gave her at the end of Season 2 won her entry to the House of Black and White, a religious organization that devotes itself to the God of Death and so is functionally an assassin’s guild.  She ends up there largely because she doesn’t have anywhere else to go, and doesn’t know what else she can be doing.

The Faceless Men (what people call the servants of the God of Many Faces) are so called because they change their faces as part of their “hits.”  (We see Jaqen’s face changing at the end of Season 2, and Arya steals a face to kill Meryn Trant at the end of Season 5.)  The idea behind the “no one” that Jaqen and the Waif keep asking her about is, if you change faces, you need also to change who you are when you’re wearing that face.  This means that you have to rid yourself of elements that made up “your” life.  (We see the Waif hitting Arya with a stick for referring to Jon as a full brother; that’s Arya’s emotional connection to her favorite brother coming through; “No one” who doesn’t know Jon Snow, would only see him as a half-brother.)

At the same time, you have Arya refusing to let go of certain parts of herself: she hid Needle, Jon’s parting present to her, rather than throw it into the sea, and you had her praying to the weirwood face (ie the religion that her father was raised with and is deeply connected to the North and Winterfell) in the main sanctuary of the House of Black and White before Jaqen gave her back her sight.  So on the one hand, you have Arya working to convince these priests that she’s effacing herself; on the other hand she retains parts of herself right under their very noses–all while gaining fighting skills (while blind! Useful for the impending war against the White Walkers which will likely take place all at night) and learning about poisons and other things.  So while she professes that she’s “no one” whenever they ask, she’s not really “no one” and that will likely cause some conflict for her before the season is out.

anonymous asked:

Maximum victory prompt: Victoria's photography gets rejected from another art place. Victoria gets upset, and Max comforts her

Thanks anon! This was a lot of fun to write. Sorry for the long wait!
————————————————

Victoria sighs, scanning the piece of paper before crumpling it up into a ball and throwing it as hard as she could into the nearest bin. Another fucking rejection from a gallery. What’s this? The fourth, fifth one? Bullshit. Her pictures are perfect. Taken with precision that some so-called professionals fucking wish they had, her eye for the colours that just work together, fuck her shots were practically flawless.

Heh. Who was she fucking kidding? All of her work lacks fucking emotion. Emotionless, dead, pieces of shit. That’s all she produces. Nothing like Max. That hipster can capture the beauty in anything, with her fucking shitty Polaroid camera. Victoria doesn’t have talent. Not in the way Max does. It drives her insane. They’ve started to talk more, ever since Max chewed her out about Kate, (She didn’t start fucking crying onto the waif, okay?). And ever since, the annoying… /goodness/ about Max shines brighter than fucking everything. Brighter than Victoria’s hatred, brighter than any fucking action she’s ever done. And despite everything that Victoria has done to her, done to her best friend, she’s looked past it. She hasn’t forgiven it, but she’s willing to put it behind them. Because Victoria ‘seemed genuinely sorry,’ and ‘I don’t think you’re a bad person. Just… Going through your own shit.’ God, Max is too fucking much, too fucking good, and that’s what she has that Victoria lacks. That’s why everyone she meets, fucking everyone, are wrapped around her little finger. Even Courtney and Taylor warmed up to her. Max doesn’t even fucking notice everyone practically worships the ground she walks upon. It’s infuriating.

With that thought, with that constant fucking niggling in the back of her mind, with the first thought of self doubt she felt the moment she looked at Max’s pictures, she finds herself on her feet, storming to Max’s room. Her intention is to ask the waif how she does it, how she fucking puts so much emotion into her work, into everything that she goddamned does. To fucking shake her, to force her to look at what she has, to look at what she’s fucking wasting. Max has everything, everything that Victoria wants, and she fucking can’t stand it any longer. She pauses outside of Max’s room, listening. The sound of god-awful hipster indie folk or whatever the fuck it is, greets her ears. She’s in. The blonde pauses, before bursting into the hipster’s room.

She’s resting on her bed when Victoria walks in. She jumps at the sound of her door swinging open violently. Fuck, she looks like a startled doe, concern painting that stupidly delicate and pretty face the moment she sees the blonde. It Victoria wants to scream, cry, do anything to escape the pulsing in her chest. Anything to make Max to stop looking at her like that, like she means something other than money or a superficial high school title. Victoria can deal with that, that’s easy. That’s practically expected. This look, this concern? It isn’t expected at all.
'Victoria? Are you okay?’ Oh fuck, this was a stupid spur of the moment thing, she can’t fucking tell the hipster trash any of this. Anything she says will be an obvious lie, and it isn’t like her to just walk out. Max would probably just follow her like some sort of troublesome, lost puppy anyway.

'I’m just fine.’ The blonde grits out, and she almost cringes at how obvious the lie is. Max frowns and it makes Victoria want to ask her why she gives a shit. But no, she can’t deal with that, can’t fucking stand the way Max would look at her. She would have some stupid, heartfelt explanation on why she does care, and Victoria can’t stand it. So she turns on her heel and moves to walk out. The shorter girl is quicker than she is, and she grabs Victoria’s wrist, firm enough to keep her in place but gentle enough so it doesn’t hurt.

'Victoria, wait.’
'Let me go.’ Victoria hisses, trying to pull her wrist away but Max stays firm. Fuck’s sake, this was a stupid idea.
'Seriously, tell me what’s wrong.’
'Nothing.’ She spits out, spinning to face Max. The smaller girl recoils slightly, before she steels herself. Victoria almost feel guilty for scaring her.
'Just tell me.’ She urges, her voice so fucking soft and the taller girl feels something bubble inside of her, something like anger but something so different.

'Another fucking rejection from an art gallery okay? But you wouldn’t know anything like that. If you went for it, you would fucking get acknowledged by a gallery, wouldn’t you? Because you’re so fucking talented, so fucking /good/. How do you fucking do it, Max? How have you, of all people, have fucking everything?’ Max’s face scrunches in something akin to confusion. She opens her mouth, to say something. Before any words come out, she shakes her head. She then does something completely unexpected. Her arms reach out and and before Victoria knows it, Max pulls her in for a hug. She freezes up at the waif’s touch, so soft yet so insistent. And then she can feel herself melt into it, her body totally denying her mind’s wishes to pull her away, denying her instincts to scream at her, to make Max fucking hurt the way she is. But she can’t and she finds herself pulling Max close to her, clinging to this fucking hipster.

The embrace doesn’t end, Max coaxing her to the bed and she finds herself lying down on it and goddamned cuddling with the girl. Her eyes burn tugging Max closer to hide it, but there’s no way Max can’t feel her shake as the floodgates open. How fucking humiliating, but Max doesn’t say anything about it. Just continues to muzzle into Victoria’s shoulder, her hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. Victoria didn’t see this coming, didn’t fucking want it to go down like this. She just wanted to scream at Max and leave. But fuck, this is nice, this too much and all she can do is pull Max closer, tightening her grip on the smaller girl, trying to pretend that she isn’t fucking sobbing a bit too loudly.

'You do have talent, y'know?’ Max says after a while. Victoria stays silent, not trusting her voice to stay strong. One of Max’s hands reach up to play with Victoria’s hair. If if was anyone else, she would’ve snapped at them. No one touches her hair. But no, Max seems to be the exception to every single one of Victoria’s rules. And she finds it hard to care about those rules anymore. Not when it comes to Max, anyway. It’s soothing, in a way, and Victoria finds her eyes slipping closed. She can deal with how undignified this situation was later. For now, Max Caulfield has her in her arms, and it feels like everything will be okay for now. And it’s what Victoria needs.

hope is the possibility 
of change, we count on 
    bulging pockets and thin fingers
dropping pennies
into tin cups, rattling paucity

battling demons in the dented mental
reflections of ourselves, staring
without understanding 
the fear of disconnection

we’re all our own strangers, 
waifs asking for donations - 
    walk faster, don’t stop
    stay apart, a bit farther
for perspective, dots on a horizon

a little nothing
to focus on,
head towards 


Hello! We are still alive, yes. However, my laptop has been broken these past few months- and still is. I can’t really find the time or motivation to do any Waif related asks on the PC I’m using to answer these two, but we are still alive, yes! Once my PC is fixed and everything is settled and downloaded and all the rest of the messy business of reformatting a computer is done, I’ll try my best to update Waif regularly like I used to.
For now, though, I’m more active on my main tumblr. So if you ever want to check up on whatever the crazy shit the mods doin’, theres a go-to.
‘Till then, this blog will probably be in a bit of a hiatus!
Thanks for your time and patience!